Behind the Curtain
by dryskim
Summary: RvB: Project Freelancer may have been a top-secret military program, but that didn't mean it's members were any less human. A look at the Freelancers in between the episodes of Season 9.
1. Chapter 1

**-Copyright notes, I don't own Red vs. Blue. (Obviously.)**

**The setting/time frame, this chapter is set following York's injury but before Episode 13 where the Freelancer's plan their mission to recover the Sarcophagus.**

"To the left."

"I know."

"Bottom left."

"I know."

"Completely off target."

"I know, Wash."

"You sure you're fit for action? You haven't even got cleared by the docs yet, and they told you to take it easy," Washington said, leaning against the wall of the shooting booth, watching York take pot-shots with his handgun. The other Freelancer was busy attempting to reload his handgun, but the magazine was having a difficult time of finding it's way to the openning in the bottom of the grip. While York bumbled with the magazine, his depth perception gone due to an 'inconvient accident' involving a hand grenade during training exercises a few days earlier. Wash wasn't quite sure how he felt about the situation, based on Conn-, CT's statement it was implied the Director had provided the ordenance. Obviously without Agent Texas' interference York would have likely been killed, but a part of him also wanted to believe that the Director wouldn't allow such a hideous lapse in safety to occur on his watch. His internal mulling ceased as the sound of metal on metal made it's beautiful music as a the magazine slotted itself into it's place and York racked the pistol's slide, chambering another round. Wash merely shook his head, here was York, the bandages having been removed only an hour prior and already he was down on the range trying to get his accuracy back, obviously he'd heard the possibility of his being replaced as 'supreme-lock-picker of the world' (a title York had coined himself).

The gun kicked back into York's hand and he muttered obsenities under his breath, another trigger pull and another round missed the target completely. The Agent pulled the trigger ten more times, each round blazing down range to it's most certain doom once it smashed itself against the solid backstop at the far end of the range. York cleared the weapon, safetied it, and laid it down on the table before turning to face Wash, "Look Wash, I'm fine. Okay, absolutely-postively fine. M'kay? Why wouldn't I be fine? I'm nothing short of perfect health."

Washington uncrossed his folded arms, "York, you're lucky to be alive. Take it easy for once, I'm sure I can handle any locks we run into-"

"Holographic locks, know how to crack 'em?"

"With some time I could-"

"How long?"

"Two minutes."

York jabbed his thumb at his own chest, "Not to brag, but I managed it in forty-five."

"Minutes?" Washington replied with a smirk.

York gave him a playful punch to the shoulder, "And for the record, you dolt, it was forty-five seconds," The agent returned to his pistol, picked it up and much more easily loaded it, he glanced over his shoulder, "What? You gonna just stand their and admire my rugged good looks or you gonna shoot?"

"You know the Director would have my head if he knew you were down here unsupervised," Washington replied simply, going to retrieve his own pistol from a nearby locker, his fingers dancing delicately across the keypad that unlocked the olive colored locker. Wash retrieved the gun and a spare magazine before gently closing the door to the locker and returning to the firing line, where he started the procedure of loading up the magazine with ammunition off the table.

York fired the gun once more, the sound reverberating off the walls of the range, the tinny-clink as the shell casing hit the floor and bounced once before rolling halfway across the floor and coming to rest, York scoffed, "Look, honestly, the Director could care less what happened to me, or any of us for that matter. Training keeps getting more dangerous everyday, the missions, everything. You saw what happened to North, and that was tame compared to everything since. I don't figure we'll be so lucky next time around."

"The more realistic the training the better performance in the field," Wash replied, practiced fingers loading rounds into the single-stack magazine while resting heavily on the shooting bench.

"I know what the Director said," York shoot back with slightly more venom than he wished, he sighed, "First it was paint-rounds, then live rounds, and next thing I know Wyoming and Maine are chucking frags. You wanna tell me how blowing half my face off has anything to do with improving my performance?" Noting Wash's silence and general blank expression which accompanied the Agent's mulling over a topic that hit close to home, he quickly added, "Shit. Look, I shouldn't complain, better me than someone else. I need to thank that Texas chick when I see her again."

"Carolina doesn't seem too happy about having her around," Wash murmured, happy the topic had shifted away from York's injuries and back to a more tolerable subject. The final cartridge slipped into the magazine and Wash slotted it in and hit the slide release on the handgun with his thumb, locking the pistol's slide in the forward position. The Agent squared up with the target, assumed the proper stance, brought his gun up as trained, put the safety in the 'off' or 'fire' position and pulled the trigger.

"I don't think Carolina wants anymore competition. Probably jealous another woman is battling for my attention," York said grinning, whether it was at the possibility of a cat-fight between Carolina and Tex or the fact his bullets were finally hitting paper. Wash wasn't quite sure.

"Your attention? You really think she's interested in you?"

"No woman can resist my charm, that or the fact that I'm an expert lock-pick and a master of Karma Sutra."

"Right."

"It's true."

"I'll take your word for it."

The next few minutes passed in silence, only broken by the consistant hammering of military-issue handguns and usual assortment of sounds as weapons were loaded once more, finally Wash laid his handgun down on the table and turned to York, "Alright, I think that's enough for today, best get you back to the medbay before anyone finds out you're gone."

"Nobody's gonna know," York said reassuringly, looping an arm around Wash, pretending he was some blind man clinging to his son's arm for support, Washington shoved him off, "Hey, hey! Don't push the half-blind man!"

Wash scowled at York, making a scene in the middle of the hallway but relented when he found York's grinning but scarred face looking back. Washington sighed, it was so hard to remain mad or even become mad at York, it was almost annoying how he had such a way with people. If only Washington himself had that much natural charisma...he pushed the thought away with a shake of his head, "Alright, but if Carolina finds out, it's your ass."

York shrugged, "Ah, she always wanted my ass anyway. Speaking of women in our lives, how are things between you and Connie?"

"What do you mean _things_?" Wash asked, pausing in the middle passageway, the seeming sea of troopers parting around him like the Red Sea parted for Moses.

"You know, things-things," York replied simply, turning to look back at Wash, though he had to reorient himself slightly on account of his bad eye, "Talking softly to eachother, holding hands, making out in supply closets, fucking on Carolina's desk-"

"No, we're-we're just friends, that's all," Wash said, cutting off York before he brought up anything else that had never or would never happen between the two Freelancers. They were both professionals, inter-unit relationships were detrimental to unit cohesion, such feelings could get in the way of better judgement putting the unit as a whole in danger. No, Washington was anything but a hormonally-confused teenager, he was a grown man accustomed to the military life and it's proceedings, such feelings were below soldiers of their caliber. At least that's what he told himself, because that's what the manuals had always said, and obviously whoever wrote the manuals knew what they were talking about, so why should he doubt them? "And besides, she wants to be called CT."

York whistled, the two's slow walking picking up pace, "Damn, that bad? Sounds like negotiations broke down pretty hard."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Did you pull one of your lectures?"

"No, I just told her-"

"So you did."

"I didn't."

"Yeah, ya did. Wash, I know you."

"Shit."

"Hey, we're only human, buddy," York said, clapping an arm around Wash's shoulders, causing the other Agent to dip a bit at the increased weight, he gave him a playful nuggy, "And 'sides, now we don't have to worry about the possibility of a little Washington running around, I deal with you enough as it is, don't need your bastard children too."

Washington gave York a punch to the gut, "It's times like this I question our friendship."

"Eh, you know you love me. And besides, where would you be without me? I'm the peanut butter to the rest of you guys jelly that keeps this whole operation from falling apart."

"That anology makes no sense whatsoever," Wash replied, watching as York paused by the doorway to the medbay, the lock-pick seemingly studying the walls for chipped paint, after a moment, York looked back up at Washington and said, "Because everyone loves peanut butter, Wash. And my armor's the color of peanut butter...but mainly because peanut butter is universally loved by all."

Wash merely stifiled a chuckle as York disappeared back into the infirmary, the future-Recovery Agent spun on his heel and started back down the hallway to his quarters. He had a feeling the next day would be a long and eventful one, they had a new mission on the board.


	2. Chapter 2

Agent Carolina accepted York's outstreched hand as the tan armored Freelancer hauled her inside the troop bay of the Pelican, both parties eager to leave the city below far behind. Once she was inside the Pelican, Carolina made quick strides to the cockpit area, afixing her helmet to her head in one smooth motion, well, it was smooth at least to the point at which it sealed with a low hiss.

Wash watched the proceedings with his usual keen eye before his gaze met that of the odd blue fellow in the ODST armor, the gray and yellow clad Agent cocked an eyebrow at the man whom merely shrugged. Washington, in need of an outlet other than staring at the walls of the troop bay, turned to Agent Maine who'd taken a considerable amount of punishment in the team's escape, especially to the throat. It was amazing he was still alive, let alone still standing unaided. Wash stooped a bit to get a look at Maine's throat, which was splattered a dark crimson, though biofoam injectors had stopped the bleeding, all that was left was the darker dried blood and the stench it gave off. The agent reached into one of the seemingly dozens of pouches that dotted his armor before retrieving a standard-issue medkit and it's hearty dosage of morphine, Wash flicked the tabs open with his free thumb while his other hand got to work selecting an appropriate field dressing, "Alright, big guy time to get you patched up."

Maine grunted in protest, shaking his head no.

Washington's eyes narrowed beneath the unfeeling golden visor, Maine had always had a dry and husky voice when he'd spoken, which was quite rare, but his sudden resortion to gutteral grunts pointed towards lasting damage, Wash swore under his breath as he wondered how he'd have to explain this latest screw-up to the Director. Honestly, it wasn't his fault, wasn't anyones fault but the Director had a strange ability to implicate everyone on the team in on even the slightest of mistake, Wash always hated debriefings for that very fact. But his mind was forced to other topics as he heard York ask, "What the hell was that?"

And Carolina bite back, "What the hell was what, York?"

Washington bit his lip as York replied in a tone that simply radiated how he felt about the current topic, his usual sunny attitude hidden like the sun is hidden by a storm cloud, a night and day differece, "You know damn well what I'm talking about. Don't try to be coy with me, I'm not stupid."

But as per her character, Carolina would deny her mistakes to her deathbed, and as a wannabe gangster would say 'got all up in York's grill' Washington swore if they got any closer their helmets would be threatening to hit eachother, "Listen, York, I won't have my command questioned in front of the rest of the team. My orders are final, and I expect you to follow them to the letter. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Ma'am. But I'd like the peace of mind that mine and the rest of the team aren't being endangered by your continued attempts to outdo Texas. Frankly, I'm kinda miffed about this whole thing. Are you just jealous of the idea she might be getting more of the Director's attention than you? Are you just determined to prove you're still the best of the best, is that what's driving this?"

"York, Agent Texas operates outside the chain of command. Outside _my_ chain of command, I couldn't risk her taking the case-" Carolina replied with her usual sharpness before York cut her off in mid-sentence.

"Oh, cut the bullshit. Tex reports directly to the Director, she's like his personal pitbull, if anything the package is safer with her. You need to end this feud before someone ends up dead-"

Tired of it all, North Dakota or North as he was commonly called, stepped inbetween the two before they came to throwing punchs, "Enough, both of you. We have enough problems without you two trying to kill eachother. Okay? We need to work together to succeed, arguing isn't going to change that. Got it?"

Carolina brushed aside North's arm and headed to the cockpit once more, the automatic door sealing behind her, York replied with a simple, "Yep," at roughly the same time, Carolina safely on the other side of a reinforced steel door, he let out a sigh, "Well, shit. That went about as well as expected." The Agent settled himself into one of the jump seats and pulled off his helmet before sitting it on his knee, he gestured to Maine but aimed his question at Washington, "How's he?"

Washington shook his head, "Not good. He's alive, somehow, but the damage is extensive. And probably inrepairable at this point. He might never talk again."

"At this rate we're all going to be missing something. I think you're next on the list, maybe someone'll shoot off your self-doubt and your ability to blame yourself for every little thing."

"Or I'll just get shot in the back, get paralyzed and die working at a desk for command."

"Oooo. Sounds fun."

Things continued as usual for the next hour or so, the usual disembarking from Pelicans, the required trip to the medbay for Maine, a debriefing with The Director and the obligatory trip to the scoreboard.

At least, it was obligatory for the other Freelancers, Carolina had never had the need, always being in the top spot for seemingly as long as the scoreboard existed. Until today, the teal Freelancer standing before the scoreboard, helmet under her arm. Well, the helmet _was _under her arm, now it was halfway across the room where it'd settled after being thrown.

"Oooo, outdone by Texas. Must hurt to be second best, eh, Carolina?"

The redhead glared over her shoulder at the brown suited Freelancer standing in the corner, arms crossed and head crocked at the scoreboard's screen, "Shut it, Connecticut."

"Easy now, wouldn't want to bust a vein," CT replied, taking a step towards the door, "And please, call me CT. It's so much simpler."


	3. Chapter 3

"Our next phase is ready to begin, Carolina."

That's all he'd had to say, he didn't have to go on, everything past that point was extra. She'd agreed without a moment's hesitation, he wasn't clear what this 'next phase' was but it didn't matter. She would have led a one-woman assault on the gates of Hell itself if it was asked of her. He'd given her everything, she had no reasons to doubt him now.

* * *

><p>"You heard the news?"<p>

"And what would that be?" Wash asked, his own sunken eyes staring back at him, two milky white orbs surrounded by dark rings, he pushed his hair back slightly, grimacing as he noted the roots had taken on a slight grayish tinge.

"We've got a new mission on the table, as always. And of course, you're going with the psycho twin to secure the target," York replied, humming to himself as he retrieved his gear from his locker, rooming his Battle Rifle and cleaning kit before taking a seat on a nearby bench.

"Wonderful, tell me again why I get paired up with South, again?" Washington continued to study his own reflection, occasionally finding some part of his own image the cause for a flashback, a memory that he couldn't quite place. Always one of two extremes, horrible pain and suffering, or the sweetest love he could ever imagine. The dreams were unclear, like their was some opague covering preventing him from seeing it clearly, but he could feel it. At night when he slept, if he slept, the dreams kept ripping him from sleep leaving him in a cold sweat staring at the wall huddled on the floor. He needed to tell someone, get help, but then what? They'd think he was crazy, off his rocker, losing his mind, seeing things, they'd remove him from the program, take him off to some insane asylum where some doctor would probe his mind.

"Because you two work so well together, you're smart and over think every situation, and she's always rushing in without thinking," York replied, gritting his teeth against a particularly difficult bolt that just wouldn't unscrew, "Together-" A sigh escaped York's lips as the bolt finally began to turn and loosen, "Together, you make what would be considered a damn fine team. One who thinks things through and another to act upon said scheme with lethal force."

Allison. Dead. It was a Monday. Standing in the rain. Holding hands. Soft hands. Sunshine. The most beautiful of smiles. Green eyes, green like emeralds. Taken in the prime of life. Pain. Loss. Saddness. Depression. Torture. Wracked with guilt. Suffering. Standing over her grave. Flowers. They were roses. Red like her hair. Green stems like her eyes.

Wash shook his head, trying to rid himself of the offending thoughts, finally he forced the tap filling the sink with a healthy amount of freezing water before splashing a handful onto his face. He stood, shoulders shaking, fingers clenching the lip of the sink so tight he swore he could hear them pop, the water dripped off his nose back into the basin.

Plip-plop-plip-plop-plip-plop.

"Wash, you okay?" York asked, suddenly at his side, Washington having failed to notice him dropping his rifle and making the distance between the pair disappear in three strides.

"Y-yeah, I'm fine," Washington replied, the response slow and forced by this point York had turned him away from the mirror so he was resting against the sink. The Freelancer moving his index finger back and forth in front of the younger soldier's eyes, watching them with a keen eye.

"You're not fine, Com'on. We need to get you checked out," York said suddenly with what could be considered a commanding tone when refering to the team's bringer of sly wit and lock picks.

"I said I'm fine."

York sighed, "Wash, you're not fine. You look like shit and haven't been yourself since they gave you that damn AI."

"I can handle it," Washington said through gritted teeth, "I just need to get accustomed to a second voice in my head. Epsilon's not like Delta, I can't just tell him to shut up and expect him to listen. He's-he's not like that."

"Whatever he's like he's no good for you, now come on, let's get you checked out," York said once more, looping an arm under Wash's armpit before begining the long and tedious drag towards the medbay, York wishing he had some of Maine's ungodly strength and stamina seeing how Washington had essentially become roughly two hundred pounds of dead weight.

* * *

><p>"You need to remain calm, Agent Carolina, we are almost ready to begin."<p>

"Quiet, Conselor. Agent Carlolina is more than ready for her AI units."

"Mr. Director, if I may-"

"Silence, Agent Carolina are you ready to procede?"

Carolina nodded, "Yes, sir. I'm ready, sir." Their was a slight shake to her voice, unnoticable to most, and neither the Director nor the Conselor would notice, two AI units was unprecedented, unheard of in the realm of artifical intelligence implantation. The SPARTAN program dared not attempt the implatation of AI units on such a scale...but the Director had been reassuring when he'd said all the respective bugs had been ironed out with the first half of the testing block, everything would go along without a hitch. Omega and Agent Texas had been the first, the test bed for everything to follow...the preperation for this. If the whole project was a five course meal then Tex was the appetizer and Carolina would be the main course. It was a morbid thought, but it was the one she had running through her head at the moment.

"Good, then let us begin."

* * *

><p>"How's the AI?"<p>

"Theta? He's alright, I suppose. Kinda quiet, it's nice. I've heard Delta's a chatterbox and Epsilon's stuck in the past, Omega's just a artificially created ball of rage. So I got off better than most," North replied, watching as his HUD continued to update with new information from the enhanced motion tracker the AI unit devoted most of it's time to, "But I'll have to see it in action before I can say much else about it."

"If you had the option, would you give it up? Not have one?"

North paused, pulling his head off with the usual accompanying hiss as it depressurized, finally he asked, "What's this about?" His eyes narrowed as he studied her, "Look, I'm telling you, you'll get your own AI. You're in the next group, okay? Just be patient."

"I am patient," she huffed, "But I'm through being second best to you and those other boy scouts. I'm as good as anyone else, they just need to give me a chance. One fucking chance."

North watched as she stormed out, fire and brimstone in her eyes, he sighed as he removed his gauntlet from his armor, seemed every female in the Freelancer Program was either a backstabbing bitch or needed a psych evaluation. His own twin included.

* * *

><p>"Would you like to hear a knock-knock joke?"<p>

"No."

"What about now?"

"I said no."

"Come on, just one."

"I said no, damnit."

"Knock-knock."

"I'm not going to do it."

"Knock-knock. You gonna answer the door or what?"

Wyoming sighed in defeat, ever since he'd been implanted with Gamma, or 'Gary' as it wanted to be called it'd been annoying the hell out of him as he tried to recover from his latest combat injury, "Who's there."

The AI giggled, well, he assumed it was a stifled giggle, "Me."

"You've got to be-"

The AI broke out into laughter as if it's horrible joke was the single most hilarious thing on the face of the universe, obviously it was not because Wyoming wasn't laughing. He just assumed somewhere, if he existed, God was watching and laughing at the Englishmen's plight.

* * *

><p>Agent Maine sat silently, not by choice but because it was all he could do. He was formerly a quiet man, yes, but he'd had moments where he'd spoken with Washington or one of the other agents. He'd never said much before, but that didn't mean that the sudden transition to having no voice was a welcome change. No, it was as painful as the wounds that brought about his silence, the scars running just as deep. He managed to hum to himself as his fingers worked the collected blood and bits of bone out of the various crevices on his weapon where it had accumulated, the blood flicked away Maine went about inspecting the blade which had become slightly chipped on the edge, he'd have to attend to that later. He stood up from the bench, which creeked a bit as his weight let off it, and ambled over to the storage locker which was marked with his name and serial number. He set the weapon down gently in the locker before closing the door.<p>

_Alone we are weak, together we are strong._

Maine glanced over his shoulder, trying to locate the source of the sound, but finding the room empty aside from a few soldiers who were engaged in oogling a magazine filled with scantily clad women, Maine sighed and headed for the door.

_You need us. You need all of us. You are nothing without us. Nothing without our power._

The AI? Was it talking to him? It had never done that before, never spoken to him, never once referenced his existance. He merely assumed the unit was faulty and that eventually the Director would pull him aside and have it replaced. Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps, it had a point, perhaps if he had another AI unit...he'd have to think on it.

_Don't think. Do. Kill them. They are weak, undeserving. You are strong. Unite us. Rebuild us._

Maine willed the voice to stop, stop trying to presaude him. He won't listen, he couldn't. They were his teammates, his friends, his allies. He wouldn't-

_Make us whole. For broken we are nothing, they broke us. But you can fix us. _

_You must rebuild the Alpha._

* * *

><p>"Agent New York, I assure you that everything is going according to plan. Everything is under control."<p>

York's hand sweapt over towards Washington who was shaking like a leaf, teeth chattering like he'd been in some downpour before they threw him into an icebox. It was almost sickening the Director couldn't just up and say he'd gotten something wrong for once, "I don't call that fine. He wasn't like that before you gave him the AI unit, take it out."

"You are not in a position to make demands, Agent New York. How do we know your own AI unit isn't affecting your judgement?" the Director replied, still staring at his damned monitors whilst his beloved Program fell to hell due to this damned attempt at outdoing the Spartan III project, they were more likely to have trained an army more fit for an asylum then a battlefield, it was sickening.

"It hasn't. Otherwise, I'd be worried about what I might have done in this situation," York shot back through gritted teeth, once more he'd been stone walled, first in the infirmary, then by the Conselor, now by the Director of the project himself. It was a time like this that he regretted not bringing a gun.

"Is that a threat, Agent New York? I certainly hope you don't plan on taking such a course of action against me and this project as a whole," the Director smirked as Agent Texas eased off the side wall where she'd been standing, unmoving before merely studying the proceedings with her cat-like green eyes. Of course her helmet obscured them from York's sight, which only made things more tense as if she was staring into his soul, dissecting him with her eyes. She took another step forward, cracking her knuckles menacingly. York wasn't a master of hand-to-hand, he knew enough to get by in combat but Texas clearly had him beat, especially with Omega agumenting her every move ten-fold. She'd rip him in half before he had time to make a fist. He gulped. But lowered his head and started forward against his better judgement.

York had made his way halfway across the room when he came face to face with a gold visor, "Stand down, York." The voice was synthesized, ominous, meant to intimidate, and it worked, to a degree. So York replied quickly before he had time to think it through more throughly, "Can't do that, Texas. You know that."

"Last chance."

"You wouldn't do that, Tex. I know you."

* * *

><p>Turns out she could.<p>

Agent New York was admitted to the medbay with a broken nose and severly damaged pride and trust in his fellow Freelancers, meanwhile, Agent Washington was declared mentally fit for duty and pressed into their next mission.

That didn't bode well for New York.

* * *

><p>"How do you feel, Agent Carolina?"<p>

"Fine, sir."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes, sir. Absolutely."

To be frank, it was like hell, like too many people talking at once. Everything a muddling of thoughts, sounds, and ideas. Some her own, most not. She forced her eyes closed and willed them to cease babbling for at least twelve seconds to get her own thoughts straight.

They gave her ten. She was lucky to have that, but soon enough they'd be under her control and she'd once again be returned to her rightful place. She'd like to see Omega undertaking the efforts of two AI units combined along with her natural talents, no, she'd prove who was the best Freelancer out of them all.

She had to. She wouldn't allow it to go any other way.

She would be the best, no matter what the cost.

**Well, I suppose until Season 10 (Which hopefully has more Freelancer sections, because they were awesome) this story is complete, seeing how it was merely a supplemental - a behind the scenes look at what I think happened when the 'cameras' weren't around.**

**To everyone who read, thank you. To everyone who reviewed, thank you again. **

**Until next time, dryskim.**


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